Strider
by algaratesara
Summary: this story is before the fellowship, but after the hobbit. it explains how Aragorn arrived with the rangers and returned to middle earth


Algarate 6

Sara Algarate-Carter

ENGL-211G-M02

Rachael Krygsman

Strider

I ride west towards Arnor. I could no longer stay in Gondor, my home. The people were starting to learn my true heritage, and many asked for me to reclaim the throne. I refused them all. How could they understand the burden I bear? The pressure of repeating the dark past has been a constant thought in my mind. That is why I head west, to find the Dunedain rangers. Men who have no claim, men looking for a purpose in life. I am hoping I can join their camp and find peace with the past. If not, I fear there is no where else for me to go.

I have been riding for the past six months. My horse, Brego, has worn tired and needs rest. However, I do not want to stop. We have passed the Shire and entered a thick pine forest. Rabbits and foxes dash in between the tree trunks and sparrows chirp for the last time as the sun dips below the tree line. The encampment should be close. Although the rangers do not have a permanent settlement, they follow the hunt. I have found tracks of men made only a week ago. They surely should be close. I look around trying to see a faint glow of a campfire. The rustle of a bush. There is nothing, it is dead silent. Not even the ravens crow_._ The hairs on my neck stand up._ There is something not right_, I think_, maybe we should settle for the night._ "Whoa, Brego!" I tell my horse. He halts to a stop.

I jump down from his britches. I grab his reins and tie them to the nearest tree. I turn to pet his nose, his withers twitch with anticipation and he gives a happy neigh. I chuckle "Get some rest, we have had a long day."

I walk to the nest nearest pine and break off the lowest hanging branches. I walk back to Brego and dump the branches on the ground. I fix them into a wood pile and start to build a fire. By rubbing two logs together and blowing where they meet, I am able to create sparks that catch flame to the log. I sit back, proud of my work. My eyes close slowly and I drift into sleep.

I awake to the snap of a nearby stick. I bolt upright, in doing so my throat runs into metal. There is a knife at my throat and six men surrounding me. I breathe heavily trying to resist the stinging at my throat. I search around bug-eyed. The leader seemed to have white hair as long as his waist. A bow is fitted in one hand and the other pulling back an arrow. The arrowhead pointed right at my heart. "What is your business in these woods?" he asked.

"I am looking for the Dunedain rangers. I am Isildur's heir. I wish to join in their brotherhood."

All the men whisper amongst each other. _The heir to Isildur! The true king! How could he leave his people? What a selfish man to come here_. The white-haired man gleamed at me with cold blue eyes. "Then it seems your wish has come true. I am Maeglin, captain of the rangers. Welcome to the brotherhood."

I feel the knife being lowered from my throat. The men hold out their arms, as a sign of hello. I grab each with a firm shake. "Come, ready your horse. We will bring you to our camp," Maeglin says turning his horse west. I grab Brego's reins and quickly untie him from the tree. The other rangers are disappearing behind Maeglin on their horses. I stick my foot in the stir-ups and hoist myself onto the horse's back. I give a slight kick and we trot behind the rangers_. Is my ancestry truly that powerful? Only a name, a name I regret to say, gained the trust of six men,_ I think. _Does a name hold that much power? _I think quietly to myself as Brego follows the other horses further into the forest and closer to my new home.

We ride through the night and arrive to the encampment at dawn. I expected a few pitched tents and little men. However, there seems to be fifty tents and over a hundred men bustling to and from. The Brandywine River rushes nearby and I hear a blacksmith's hammer in the distance. The smell of firewood and cooking meat fills my nose. A sharp neigh turns my head quickly to see a stable with about forty horses ready to ride at a moment's notice. Maeglin reverts my attention back to the group "This is the Brandywine camp. Our commander is _Egladhrim. You must speak with him if you wish to stay. It is his decision alone."_

_He hops of his horse and stomps into the largest tent. I dismount Brego, give him a small pat of reassurance and follow Maeglin. _

_The floor of the tent is covered in animal pelts of foxes and deer. The walls are decorated with red paint with ancient elvish writing. From one hangs a painting depicting the moment when Isildur cuts the rung from Sauron's finger. I feel my chest tighten. It seems everywhere I go I can not escape my past. I focus on the man sitting behind a large oak desk. He has pointed ears and dark hair pulled back in an intricate braid. His hands are folded in front of him and his stern eyes seem fixated on me. Maeglin bows, "Commander, we found this man in the forest. He he was searching for us wishes to join the rangers. His name is Aragorn, he claims to be the heir to Isildur himself."_

_Egladhrim's ears perk up like a dog. He turns to his ranger "Thank you Maeglin, you may go."_

_Maelgin bows again, turns on one foot and exits the tent, leaving me and Egladhrim alone. He scans me from head to toe. "So what brings the heir of the crown to my camp?" _

_I bow, "I come seeking to leave my past behind and to learn the ways of the Dunedain rangers."_

_"I do not care for your past, and I do not care of your ancestry. We are all royal blood here. Of whom you got it from is no importance to me. All I care about is how you can help better my camp grow or if you will burden us further," he says sternly._

_"With all due respect sir, I do not care for my past either. I am simply looking for a new home. That is my main priority."_

_He looks at me questioningly. "How bad could the life of Isildur's heir truly be if he has come to my feet begging to be accepted? If you have come here to try and overthrow my position as commander, you mistook me for a fool boy."_

_"No!" I yell. "I assure you sir I plot no such thing. You have my word." __They don't know,__ I think__, no one truly knows why I seek solitude__. _

_Egladhrim stands from his chair and walks around the desk to face me. "If I allow you to stay, you must pull your own weight and make your way up the ranks on your own. As I said, names have no significance here. You will start as a stable boy. Talk to __Helevorn, he will give you a tent and show you the camp."_

_"Thank you, sir. You will not regret it." I bow and turn to leave._

_"Aragorn!" I turn. "If I feel you are causing a disturbance to my men, we will not be on good terms. Do not speak to them of your blood. Do you understand?" __Egladhrim says._

_"Yes sir." I exit the tent._

_The Dunedain rangers of the north are all descendants of royal blood. When the elves first arrived to Middle Earth the married men and made a cross-breed of men and elves. These men live longer, have the grace and agility of the elves whilst also gaining the strength of men. The children were taught the elvish language, and many have elvish names. In the First Age, the children were taught how to wield swords and bows by the elves themselves. As time passed, men and elves started to conflict. So men took over the training. Only the blood of the current king were taught the battle strategies of elves, thus losing the legacy. Now, only a few remain who know the ancient tongue and skills. I am one of the few._

_The rangers are respected as great warriors who protect the free-folk of Hobbiton and Bree and have been known to occasionally help in battle when they feel their aid is needed. They roam from place to place, seeking a brotherhood they no longer can find in the modern world. The rangers are rugged, harsh men. They prefer solitude expect for their brethren and are rarely except in the time of need. They stick to surviving and carrying on their legacy of royal blood. _

_As I walk towards the stables, which I can find from the smell of horse dung and the distinct neighing, I feel as if I am walking back into history. Many of the men how pointed ears like Maelgin and Egladhrim, showing a closer relationship to their elvish heritage. Others look like regular men but with a more graceful stride and higher cheek bones. They watch me as I pass, aware of the outsider who has entered their camp. They whisper about the new comer, and what fortune he may bring. Others snarl, claiming they don't have the resources to feed another man. I try to keep my head up, knowing I belong here and they are suspicious of outsiders, I will show them I belong here._

_I arrive at the stables and stick my head around the corner. "Hello?" I say. "I am looking for __Helevorn."_

_A stout man I would mistaken for a dwarf pokes his head from one of the corals. "  
Over here son!" he shouts._

_I walk towards him and he extends his arm. I firmly grasp his shoulder and he mine. A proper greeting among elves. "Greeting friend. I am Helevorn. What is your name?"_

_I pause. I traveled here for a fresh start, and I do not want my past to follow me. __Egladhrim's words echo in my ears. __Do not speak to them of your blood. Do you understand?__ "Strider, my name is Strider."_


End file.
